The Eye and the Shroud
by Kaprou
Summary: Peter Parker, Web of Shadows AU. Tandy Bowen is starting a garage band. Peter Parker is starting one of the weirdest days of his life. Hero origins! Read, review, recommend. (Complete)
1. Eye & Shroud 1

An anomaly in the sleeping young man's environment made his sleep shallow as deeper senses cast about for what was out of place.

Bacon.

The young man blinked, and sat up. He glanced at the clock; seven thirty. In the morning. He sniffed; sure enough, bacon. Swinging his legs out of bed, he rose and padded soundlessly to the bedroom door. Peeking out, he saw the blazing red hair of an attractive woman who stood at the stove with her back to him.

He grinned.

Then he blinked in confusion. Strolling out into his kitchenette living room, he cleared his throat. "Is it Wednesday or what?" he asked.

"It is Wednesday," she replied, fresh hissing rising from the pan as she turned the bacon. She wore dish washing gloves, a tee shirt, and hip hugging jeans that did justice to the curvaceous womanly shapes that filled them out.

"You still work at Doctor Medford's office, right?" he pressed on, trying to sort his morning out.

"Yes," she nodded. "But I work part time and get Wednesdays off. You've forgotten what's going on today, haven't you," she added matter-of-factly.

He froze. Flashed through dates; birthday, anniversary of first date, day she got her cat. Nothing came up. He swallowed hard, fear chilling him for a moment.

"You know me well enough," he said casually, "that there's absolutely no point in me playing for time until I remember. So you better just tell me what's special about Wednesday, September twenty fourth."

"Tandy's having auditions for her band today," the redhead said with a mischievous grin. She plucked the bacon out of the pan with tongs and laid the strips on the folded paper towels in the bowl. "I agreed to be Head Groupie." She turned and looked him over, taking in the lanky young man with tousled hair, wandering over the pajamas he slept in. "Well worth the effort of getting up to come over, I'd say," she murmured.

"Hoo. You make me feel all naked when you do that, Mary Jane Watson," the young man grinned with a shiver.

"We don't have time for me to make you all naked, Peter Parker," she replied, turning her back on him as she grinned broadly. "And I didn't make you breakfast. I just cooked bacon. Guaranteed to get any man out of bed to investigate. I know what happens to your alarm clock when it wakes you up. I don't want that to be me."

"Yeah," he sighed as he sat at the table. "We're suckers for bacon. Gimmie."

She put the bowl down on the table in front of Peter and she pulled the gloves off. "Okay. You're about to start wondering how this involves you."

"A step ahead of me all the way," he said in simulated slack-jawed awe.

"Groupies sometimes need to lift heavy things," she said with a dazzling smile. "You came to mind as someone who could be useful for hefting amps."

"I knew it," he muttered confidentially to his bacon. "She just wants me for my body."

"I stand revealed," she said playfully, leaning back with a wicked grin.

"I thought you said there wasn't time for that," he said innocently.

She chuckled. "So, how did your photo shoot go yesterday?" she asked.

"Dull!" Peter said. He grabbed a strip of bacon and folded it into his mouth. "Glamor models bore me senseless. I will _never_ do a fashion shoot again. I'm gonna stick to taking pictures for the Planetary and maybe some freelance." He shrugged. "I'm not sure I can make it as a photographer," he sighed.

"You could at least pretend to chew the bacon," Mary Jane noted as another strip disappeared.

"Bah," Peter said.

"You are a man in serious need of a hobby," Mary Jane said thoughtfully. "Besides swinging around the city in tights righting wrongs and punishing evildoers."

"Hey," Peter said. "Watch it. You cooked me bacon, but that's not carte blanche to caricature my highly complex and sensitive lifestyle."

"Right," Mary Jane said dryly. "Anyway, I thought maybe you'd get a kick out of hanging out with the band."

"Who's Tandy got so far?" Peter asked as another strip absented itself from the bowl.

"Well, she's doing keyboards and vocals," Mary Jane said, watching the bacon vanish. "Tyrone's got guitar. She needs a couple more people, but unless there are a few rock stars in the rough there she's gonna settle for four."

"Holy cow," Peter muttered as the last of the bacon evaporated.

"And I figure they need a photographer."

"Hang on," Peter said. "Am I supposed to carry heavy things or snap pictures?"

"Garage bands can't afford that kind of division of labor," Mary Jane said primly. "So get dressed. I want to go in about ten minutes."

"What if I have to powder my nose?" Peter asked innocently.

"That's what the visor mirrors are for," Mary Jane replied, deadpan.

"Right. So is the acid grunge thing still in, or do I go preppie?" Peter muttered, massaging his forehead. "Music. I just can't keep up."

"Jeans and a tee shirt, Peter," Mary Jane said. "Never out of place."

"Wow," Peter said with a grin. "You may have just changed my life."

"Clock's tickin, wise guy," Mary Jane said, referencing her watch as Peter got up and padded into the bedroom.

**xXx**

Peter finished tightening the wingnut on the stand of the tom drum, next to the snare and under the cymbal. He straightened, dusting his hands off. "Is that the way those are supposed to go?" he asked the slouching teenager with long hair.

"Yeah," the teen nodded. "Where's the beer?"

"I, uh, don't think there's any beer," Peter said. "Go ask Tyrone." He pointed at a tall skinny black kid who was tightening the adjusted mike stand.

"So Peter," a bouncy blonde with a huge grin said as she trotted up to him, "how do you like being a groupie?"

"No shortage of heavy stuff to lift," he said with a shrug, "and I'm an expert on duct taping cords to the floor, so I guess I'm a natural." He glanced around. "There's no beer here, is there?"

"Tandy wouldn't approve," Gwen said with a stern look. "Are we ready to start the auditions for drummers?"

"I guess," Peter shrugged. "This is the first time I've set up a… trap? They call 'em traps?"

"A drum set, sure," Gwen shrugged. She picked up her clipboard off a speaker. "I've been looking for this," she said. "Ah, Tandy wanted to audition bass guitarists first. Is it one o'clock yet?"

"In about five minutes," Peter said, glancing around so he could pretend he consulted a clock.

Tandy opened the door from the house and stepped down into the spacious three car garage that was open to the pleasant September afternoon. She smiled at the group that had already begun to assemble. Her pale blonde hair was back in a ponytail, and her taut dancer's body sported a midriff baring shirt and biker shorts, white canvas shoes on her feet. "Okay, people," she said in her smooth quiet voice, a smile in her eyes. "We ready to kick this thing off?"

Mary Jane strolled in. "We got a couple people here to try for fit with the bass guitar," she said. "I've got them lined up, so if you and Tyrone want to get ready then we can start checking them out."

"Right," Tandy said. She walked over to the keyboard on a frame stand, and she flicked it on, played a few chords. Tyrone grinned at her, slung on his guitar, and jammed a couple riffs, plunked out a few chords, adjusted his strings a bit.

"Ready?" Tandy asked him.

"B-bring-g em on," he said with a grin.

"Okay, let's have the first one," Tandy said. Mary Jane made a check on her clipboard and scampered out to the driveway. Peter followed.

On the driveway there were three park benches and a few lawn chairs. About ten people were lounging around, rummaging the coolers with ice and pop and bottled water, or playing Frisbee on the palatial front lawn of the Bowen Estate.

"Todd," Mary Jane called out. "You're up."

A pudgy teenager with bad acne and a buzz cut picked up his duct taped guitar and followed Mary Jane into the garage. He had a Slipknot bumper sticker on the front of the black guitar and a Metallica logo on the back. He shuffled in and nodded to Tandy and Tyrone.

"Todd, hello," Tandy said with a nod. "You ready to make some tunes?"

"You bet," he said. "You guys do death metal, right?" he prodded, his voice thick and wheezy.

"Not so much," Tandy said with a glance at Tyrone. "I figure I'd write most of the songs, and we're sort of thinking in a more alternative pop direction."

"I'll change your minds," Todd said with a grin. He plugged into an amp, quickly tuned, then started chugging out heavy massive chords, slamming on the guitar as he jerked it up and down, grunting as he mashed out blocks of noise as he swung the neck of the guitar back and forth.

Tandy politely let him finish. "We were thinking something with a little more agility and finesse," she said. "But that can serve for backup. Let's try 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,'" she said.

"What?" Todd said, dumbfounded.

"Just try to keep up," Tandy said. She rolled out a jazzy chord, then started whirling around a syncopated tune loosely based on Mary Had a Little Lamb as Tyrone jammed along the theme. Todd snorted in disbelief, then turned and marched out of the garage.

"I don't think he'd be a good fit," Tandy said with a straight face. Tyrone giggled as he tuned his guitar; using the whammy bar on the grand finale had bent his pitch ever so slightly.

"D-definitely g-gonna n-n-need more humor f-for us," Tyrone said.

"Next victim," Mary Jane said brightly, "Anita." The guitarist slouched in, her hair under a Sox cap, wearing a Three Doors Down shirt.

"Y-you r-ready?" Tyrone said.

"D-duh," Anita said, and she snorted as she giggled.

"Next," Tandy said coldly, fixing Anita with a look.

"You haven't even heard me play!" Anita protested.

"No need," Tandy said. "Next."

"There _isn't_ anybody else," Anita snapped. "I'm outta here."

She stormed out, and a couple others left with her.

"Nobody else here for bass guitar?" Tandy said.

Gwen checked her clipboard. "Mostly drummers," she noted. "And a violin player." Tandy, Tyrone, Mary Jane, and Peter blinked as they looked at Gwen.

"Okay," Tandy said carefully, "I guess a violin player could be cool."

"Mary Jane used to play bass guitar," Gwen said helpfully.

"Really?" Tandy said. "I didn't know!"

"That was in high school," Mary Jane said, fixing a look on Gwen. "I'm sure I don't remember how."

"You've g-got to b-be better th-than them," Tyrone said, jerking a thumb down the driveway. "C-c'mon!"

"Mary had a Little Lamb, key of G," Tandy said with a wide smile as Gwen picked up a bass guitar and handed it to Mary Jane.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mary Jane said under her breath as she caught Peter's eye. He was grinning, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. She blushed furiously, cleared her throat, and plugged the guitar in.

She strummed chords in the background as Tandy and Tyrone had their way with the nursery rhyme, and by the end of it she was no longer bright pink, she was positively crimson.

"Y-your in!" Tyrone said triumphantly.

"Want the part?" grinned Tandy.

"Do it! Do it!" Gwen said happily.

Peter hid his smile behind his hand as he chuckled.

"I can't believe this," Mary Jane said, trying not to look thrilled. "Okay, fine," she grumped. "I'll be in your band."

"Time to get drummers. You can stay here, MJ," Gwen said. She scampered out to the driveway.

**xXx**

"Well, whaddya think," Mary Jane said, slinging her guitar off as the sixth applicant to be drummer in the band slouched out.

Tandy sighed and touched her fingertips to her eyes. "Hm. At least the last fellow could keep time. The two before him just couldn't keep the beat steady."

"I th-think-k the g-g-guy w-with dr-jr-jreadlocks did good," Tyrone managed.

"Not sure about the howling while he plays, though," Mary Jane said, "and he reeked of pot."

"Can you believe the first guy?" Tandy said. "He showed up to the audition high. What makes people do stuff like that?"

Peter idly listened to them as he relaxed in a lawn chair, looking out over the driveway and the handful of applicants that remained. He felt oddly at peace with himself and the world, comfortable in the chair, his responsibilities and worries in the far back of his mind.

_That's because that horrible bashing stopped,_ snitted a distinct thought pattern in his mind that was only slightly his; the spider id, the expression of the powers that lurked beneath the placid exterior of mild-mannered Peter Parker.

He chuckled. "As you say, it stopped. Get over it."

_Musn't do that again,_ the spider ghost whispered to him. _Musn't let them hit the drums so poorly. It hurts me. It is wrong. There is no rhythm there. They are worthless._

_"_ You are endangering my groupiehood, if you can't listen to the music. If it's too loud, you're too old."

_Volume isn't the issue_, grumped the spider ghost, then it subsided.

"What do you think, Peter?" Gwen said from the other side of the garage.

"Me?" Peter said, surprised. "No opinion. I'm a groupie. Me carry heavy stuff. Tape down cords." He grinned. "Snap pictures."

They returned to the conversation, and Peter relaxed again.

_Let's show them,_ whispered the spider ghost.

"Show them what?" Peter muttered, glancing up at the endlessly blue September afternoon sky.

_Show them rhythm._

"Bah," Peter said. "Let them have their band."

Peter felt no impression of words, just a general sensation of sulking. He sighed deeply. "If I do this, I get more than four hours of sleep tonight, okay?" he said to himself.

_Deal._

"And we're just showboating. Just this once."

The spider ghost laughed at him as it usually did any time he said 'just this once.'

Peter stood up and casually strolled over to the drum set. His senses played over it, memorizing the tensile strength of the drum heads, the spatial relation of all the striking surfaces, the resonant pitches. He picked up the drumsticks, experimentally tapped one of the heads. Felt a shiver roll through his subconscious. The spider ghost kept track of the time by cross referencing the second increment against the moving target of his heartbeat. It could find an opening in a strobe of defense. It could swing across a city choosing anchor points and accounting for the variables of wind speed and velocity. It lived, breathed, and fed on pattern.

It was too late not to sit down.

"P.S," Peter said quietly to his spider ghost. "We're with MJ now so you can't like Tandy anymore."

If the spider ghost could have made a rude noise it would have, but Peter didn't let that kind of expression out. Instead, he let his adhesives grip and release the drumsticks. He spun them once. He had a vague feeling if he let the spider ghost taste this experience there would be no going back. But he was past the point of no return.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ratta tatta tap. He paused as the drumbeats reverberated through the web of veins, arteries, and tangled nerves of his body. Something was waking up.

"C'mon," Peter said to Tandy and Tyrone. "Mary Had a Little Lamb. From the top." He grinned. Mary Jane's eyebrow shot up and she slung on the guitar, answering his grin. Gwen squeaked with laughter.

Tandy opened it up with a one finger rendition, then dropped into a jazzy chord, and Peter slapped at one drum and suddenly it wasn't enough. The stick spun in his hand of its own volition and whipped across three drum heads before he fully knew what was going on. Wisely, Peter took a back seat, and the spider ghost gleamed out of his eyes.

The drums held the music, teased it, stung it, wrapped around it subtly without taking over, played with the guitars and keyboard as though they were toys. Peter felt the thin heady rush that coursed through him when he was flying through the air upside down; his talents expressed themselves in the rhythm, pushing back on the world, choosing the very best openings.

They wrapped up, and all the other drummers were standing in the doorway to the garage staring at Peter. He couldn't help himself. The spider ghost wanted a drum solo.

Who was he to stop it?

The sticks rapped, bounced, and whirled across the drums, spinning and twirling and spattering impacts across all the surfaces, sending a wild wave of sound rolling out from the precisely touched instruments. His strength made it effortless, and he closed his eyes since his senses still knew where each and every instrument was. His hands whirled as his foot bounced on the pedal, thudding out the baseline. Then he massaged the cymbal with the two drumsticks, swelling up to a crescendo and then leaning back on the squat drummer stool, feeling somewhat spent.

"I th-think-k s-somebody's b-been h-holding out on us," Tyrone said, wide eyed.

"You drum like you dance, hot shot," Tandy said, somewhat awed.

Mary Jane just grinned at him and shook her head, while Gwen was slack jawed in wonder.

"You guys suck," one of the drummer applicants said in disgust. He turned and left. Several others did too, throwing their pop cans on the lawn. Two were left, wide eyed.

"Dude, you are Kenny Moon reincarnated," one said.

"Thanks guys, auditions are over, slot's filled," Gwen said, shooing at them.

"But you guys haven't picked me yet. And I'm not sure I have the time," Peter said, foundering around for reasons as his spider ghost reveled in the afterglow of the networking of sound and impact.

"You are a freelance photographer," Mary Jane said sternly, "and your girlfriend told you that you are going to be in her band, even if you rock and she sucks at this."

"I guess I can't argue with that," Peter said sheepishly.

"Well, Peter Parker," Tandy said with a grin, "Welcome to the band."


	2. Eye & Shroud 2

The band sat around the card table under the unwavering fluorescent light of the garage. They had closed the garage door now that the evening chill had crept into the air, and they were laughing as they sat around pizza boxes and rapidly draining cans of pop.

"See, I'll do most of the song writing," Tandy said. "I figure the way this will work is I write the song, then come up with some guitar tabs for you two and keyboarding for me, and then you just… you just do what you do," she said to Peter. He grinned a bit sheepishly.

"Go easy on me," Mary Jane said. "I'm still kind of sucking at the guitar playing. I'm gonna hafta practice a _lot_ to get up to speed."

"Do your parents mind that we're making a ruckus in their garage?" Peter asked.

Tandy rolled her eyes. "Dad is pretty much permanently on business trips, and Mom isn't back from downtown yet. She has an appointment at the spa, followed by an art show she's directing. I'm kind of curious to know how long it will be before one of them figures out I've got a band."

"Ah," Peter said with a sage nod, sorry he asked.

"W-will w-w-we d-do covers?" Tyrone asked Tandy.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I formed the band because I've got some ideas for songs, some of them written. I wanted people to help me out who, you know, don't mind going out on a limb and doing some experimental stuff."

"I think we're all mental enough," Mary Jane said with a nod.

"G-gotta p-pick a n-name," Tyrone said.

"I like those weird kinky band names, like Crash Test Dummies and Goo Goo Dolls and Red Hot Chili Peppers," Mary Jane grinned.

"Those are all things. You're a material girl," Peter observed.

"How about," Mary Jane said thoughtfully, squinting at the ceiling, "Mad Mannikins, spelled with a 'k' to make it more artsy? Like a protest of wooden performance or something."

"I th-th-think we c-could be B-B-Busted C-Coffin!" Tyrone said.

"Whatever we pick, we all have to agree on it," Tandy said. "We're in this together. I was thinking a possibility might be Muse Unbound or something."

"Hang on," Peter said, getting up. He returned with a spiral notebook and a pen. Opening the book, he leaned over it and started scratching in the names.

"Or Three Eyed Fish," Mary Jane said. "That's kinda cool."

"Ch-Ch-ainsaw R-review!" Tyrone grinned.

"Leaf Dance," Tandy said dreamily. "I had this cool idea for a song watching leaves fall onto the lake."

"CGM!" Tyrone contributed, "for C-comput-ter G-generated Music!"

"But it isn't," Mary Jane said. "Dude! How about this. Lawn Ornament."

"Lawn Ornament?" Peter said skeptically.

"Well it's better than Butthole Surfers," Mary Jane said primly. "We're brainstorming. Write it down."

"We haven't really even talked about what kind of music we're going to do," Peter said. "Should we let that help us decide what kind of band name to use?"

"D-deathtongue!" Tyrone added.

Tandy smiled at them. "The name is the buy-in," she said. "Once you feel the band is yours then we can move on. So we must pick something everyone likes."

"No snide comments out of you," Mary Jane said, pointing sternly at Peter. "Where were we?"

"G-goreblade!" Tyrone said. "Spattercash!"

"Not to be rude or anything, but I was wondering," Mary Jane said to Tyrone. "Are you into death metal?" He grinned at her and nodded. "I see," she mused.

"Peter, you haven't suggested anything," Tandy said to him directly.

"Ah," Peter said. He shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. "I, uh, don't really listen to a lot of music. This is kind of new for me." Peter stopped, stiffened, peered around the garage.

Mary Jane noticed at once and got very nervous. Tyrone blinked at him, and Tandy raised an eyebrow.

_Something out of place, something out of place; the shadows!_

Peter sprang at Mary Jane and knocked her to the side as the shadows in the back corner of the garage erupted and whooshed out at the table, the edges of the shroud defying the laws of physics as they rigidly plunged ahead and swept the entire table into their folds. Peter looked back, but the shroud was already gone, and so was the table, and the chairs, and—

Tandy and Tyrone had vanished without a trace.

"Oh. My. God," Mary Jane breathed.

"Go home," Peter said, bounding to his feet. He rushed to the cordless phone and picked it up, punching in a number.

"No," Mary Jane said, standing. "I'm with you."

"This is going to get ugly," Peter said. "Please."

She wavered, then nodded. "Come by my place when you're done," she said. He nodded, and she left.

**xXx**

Illyana sat at the table, munching on a pickle and peanut butter and frito sandwich. The phone rang. She put her sandwich down and answered it. "Strange residence, Illyana attending."

"This is Peter, Peter Parker," came the agitated voice on the other end. "Is Strange in?"

The front door opened, and Strange walked in looking slightly haunted. Xavier was on his heels; he turned to close the door then saw Illyana and smiled. His smile was tense.

"Just walked in," Illyana said. "Strange, it's that Parker guy. And welcome back."

"Thank you," Strange said distractedly. He took the phone. "This isn't a good time, Peter, can I call you back?"

"Fifteen seconds," Peter said. "That's all I need. I was here at Tandy Bowen's place, we were talking, and this shadow swept out of the corner and took her and Tyrone. I barely got MJ and me out of the way. I wanted to tell you that, and to see if you have any ideas as to how I can get them back."

Strange was silent for a moment. "Peter," he said, "you do good work. We'll be right there."

"Uh, thanks," Peter said, a bit confused. Strange hung up and turned to Xavier and Illyana.

"My associate, Peter Parker, is a bit of a trouble magnet," Strange said. "If something odd is going on in the area, it tends to find its way to him. And so has our cloak. Peter just witnessed an attack."

"Wait, _the_ cloak?" Illyana said. "The vampiric herald? The _Shroud?_"

"Yes," Strange replied. "It's out, it has a new host, and we need to rescue him before the Eye does its work and implodes the Shroud for good. So we have until he actually tries to feed, that's the trigger. Montessi's nephew is its host."

"Oh man," Illyana breathed.

"Let's go," Strange said. "Scry for Peter, then come with us if you like."

"Right, Chief," Illyana said, and she thrust her hand out with her fingers spread as a disk ringed with dark eldritch flame swept up from the floor, carrying Xavier and Strange and Illyana to Limbo.

Peter leaped to the side as the stepping disk flared, and he blinked to see Xavier and Strange.

"Xavier?" he said uncertainly. "You're walking?"

"With mechanical assistance," Xavier said. "I have a machine that lets my psionics power my movement."

"Glad you found another way," Peter said with a small smile.

Strange had his eyes closed, a thin line of concentration on his forehead. "It came from there," he said with a gesture, "and swept through here, then disappeared."

"Right," Peter said. "People come and go in the strangest ways here." He looked at Xavier. "If I don't understand, I figure it's magic and I go to Strange."

"Seems a wise course," Xavier said, looking sideways at Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme sat on the floor.

"I am going to search for the Shroud," Strange said. "Xavier, you are welcome to do the same."

"What should I do?" Peter asked.

"Protect our bodies while we're defenseless," Strange nodded.

"I can do that," Peter said. "Unless the Shroud comes back."

"I don't think it will, it's too soon," Strange said. "Illyana, scry for it." Then he closed his eyes. Peter looked around.

"What, is she invisible now? What a chilling thought," he muttered. He began to pace, casting glances at the two silent and motionless men from time to time, shaking his head.

Strange's astral form lifted from him, and he saw the world in a crispness that was impossible for mortal eyes as he saw the energies that resided in everything. Including the air. And the spirits of the earth. He sent out an inaudible keen, and spirits rushed to him as he drifted out of the garage.

He looked for an echo of the Shroud. None in the area knew more than the garage contact. So he began to flit across the earth, a driven ghost moving at the speed of thought.

Xavier expanded his consciousness again, looking for the print of terror on the minds around him. He began a methodical sweep of the neighborhood, then he cast his thoughts wider. Hundreds of thoughts prickled in his mind, the signatures of a range of emotions, punctuated by the occasional flare of anger or spike of passion. What he sought was terror. It would only be a matter of time before he found it.

Illyana crouched by her pool, studying it as images flickered and danced in the still surface. "This is stupid," she muttered. "I barely know what I'm looking for." Then her training returned to her; when she was a wizard, and no longer an apprentice, she would have more difficult searches than this. She applied herself, bending to the task, and the scry flickered faster.

"This sure would be easier if the damned thing would stay on Prime and not go jumping off where we can't follow," she muttered.

Peter started thinking fast as a car pulled into the driveway. He didn't have a car anymore, Mary Jane had brought him. And she had left to go home. Strange and Xavier had no car. Tyrone had gotten a ride from Tandy. Peter peeked outside. A red Miata was in the driveway. A classy middle aged woman strolled up to her house, and let herself in. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, then resumed his vigil over his two stiff and motionless charges.

**xXx**

The breathing dark in the corner of the musty basement shifted, and a darker fabric unfurled from depths unfathomable. With a hoarse scream, Manuel rode the Shroud out of the endless dark, back to Prime. He yanked the folds of the cloak open, only darkness beneath. From that darkness, two teens were disgorged.

Sputtering and gasping, Tandy and Tyrone thudded gracelessly down on the concrete of the floor, struggling for air.

"I can't do it!" Manuel shouted at Mordred. "The agony! I am barely sane! But this is too monstrous! I will not… provide… a hunting ground for the foul thing—" a rattling gasp of pain cut his words short.

Mordred stood motionless, staring at him coldly, decidedly unamused. "You could have done great things, Manuel de la Rocha. You still can. But first you must accept what you have become." He sniffed. "That horrible hunger that is gnawing at your guts and your bones is a hunger for light, for living light. You cannot slake it without drinking souls. After the starving predator that conceals itself in your folds has cooked them properly, seasoned them with despair. Manuel! Get a hold of yourself! Don't you see? Hope is gone!"

Quivering under the battering assault of starvation, Manuel looked at Tandy and Tyrone with eyes too sunken to be seen, his fleshless face pulling his toughened skin ever tighter over a dark skull.

"Once again I must choose," he whispered, "between hunger and pride."

Tyrone pushed himself to his feet, trembling with fear. "T-t-ttake m-m-mm-me," he stammered. "Let h-hher g-ggo!"

"Tyrone!" Tandy managed, rising. "You can't do this. I won't let you."

The gold amulet at the Shroud's throat glittered with a cold light as Manuel stared at him.

"Your mother loves you. You have brothers, sisters. You can't make this call," Tandy said, standing with her back to the Shroud, staring up into Tyrone's eyes.

"Tandy!" Tyrone shouted, grasping her shoulders. "For once! Let me d-do this!" Then he pushed past her and flung himself at the Shroud's inky depths.

He was knocked to the floor by a twitch of the sentient fabric. "No," Manuel said, a strange wonder in his voice. "If a sacrifice must be made… I can do no less than this unfortunate one. He would give his life to save yours." Manuel's teeth chattered. "I must… uphold… my family's… name…"

He let out a tremendous scream as he furled the Shroud around himself, ever tighter. And then, for their sake, he gave up all hope.

Mordred shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "So passes Manuel de la Rocha," he murmured. He slipped out of the basement, locking the door behind himself.

"Run!" Tyrone said urgently to Tandy. "Run while you can!"

The Shroud had collapsed upon itself, Manuel had vanished within it. Once again, it was fabric. For a second, it did not stir. Then it restlessly twitched, and its broad, pointed shoulders whirled up from the ground, the cowl peaked and empty save for the darkness that echoed endlessly within its malice. The Shroud swirled, the amulet at its throat glittering. Traces of light whipped across the fabric from the amulet, swirling across the surface. The Shroud lunged as Tyrone cried out; it swept at Tandy, and Tyrone leaped into it, topping into its endless dark.

"No!" Tandy shouted, scrabbling for a grip on his ankle as he vanished into the inky emptiness. Then darkness covered them, and they were lost.

**xXx**

Xavier and Strange gasped in the same moment, and Peter whirled, ready to fight. Xavier opened his eyes and struggled to rise, Peter was at his side in a moment.

"What happened?" Peter asked urgently.

"It screamed," Xavier said shortly. "Loud enough to be felt from here. Strange went to alert his apprentice."

Strange's eyes opened, and he rolled easily to his feet. "Let's go," he said, and a disk of pale darkness swept up around them, ringed in eldritch flame.

**xXx**

Tandy blinked and looked around. Her mother, her father; they sat by a Christmas tree that was listlessly decorated. The gas log flickered in the fireplace, a Christmas special was on the television. In the next room, her aunt and uncles moved quietly, glancing in from time to time, walking on eggshells.

The doorbell rang, and her parents sprang up and rushed to the door.

"Somebody order a pizza?" the gangly youth said, brandishing his insulated sack full of pizza boxes.

Her father's jaw worked, his eyes bugging out slightly, and her mother turned away and concealed her sorrow behind her hand.

"I just keep hoping," the older woman whispered. She walked over to the mantle and looked at Tandy's senior picture as one of Tandy's uncles rushed to pay for the pizza.

Tandy realized that she was never going to go home. She realized that no one would ever know where she had gone, what had become of her.

As the cold rushed through her, a light kindled in her eyes, a spark of determination. "Mom, Dad," she said, knowing instinctively that they couldn't hear her. "There's always hope. Always. I never gave up." She smiled at them. "Merry Christmas," she whispered. "Don't give my room away." And she reached out to smooth her mother's hair, wondering if the gesture would bring any comfort at all, wondering whether she was a phantasm or they were. It was all so surreal; they looked a lot more real than she felt. She had to believe she could still do some good.

A star glittered with a cold, hard light in the night sky above.


	3. Eye & Shroud 3

The stepping disk flared again, and Strange stood with Xavier and Peter and Illyana in the musty old basement. In the middle of the floor, the Shroud twitched and groaned, shifting restlessly, hungrily. Ripples of light, like sunlight on a clear stream, rolled and slithered across the fabric. The gold amulet shone with a merciless light, a pale burning glitter.

"Do something!" Peter demanded. "Xavier?"

Xavier nodded, his face ashen. "I'll try," he said. He let his eyes drift closed, he tried to reach the mind in the Shroud.

He choked on a gasp and toppled over backwards, clawing at the air, as though he had been kicked in the chest. He curled up in a ball, jerking and whimpering. Peter smelled blood as it trickled from Xavier's nose and eyes. The stricken man was overcome with nightmares.

"Strange?" Peter said in a small voice, turning to the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Peter," Strange said in a pained tone, "the amulet is doing what it was set to do. I'm sorry, it's too late. The Shroud, and everyone in it, will be destroyed."

"How do you know they're in there?" Peter demanded.

"I saw it happen," Strange said, meeting his eyes levelly. "Peter. I'm sorry."

"Dammit, those are my friends," Peter said, his teeth set. "You've got to do something!" His hands clenched and unclenched as his desperate urge to do something, anything, drew a blank on what he could do.

"Look!" Illyana said, pointing at the Shroud. "Something's happening!"

Light poured over the fabric like oil on water, and its twisting surface mixed breathtaking beauty and an ugly, thorough violence. The amulet contained the end of the world…

Tandy was drawn through the wall of her house, insubstantial. In the snow outside, she saw what looked like a huge, ugly, starving dog crouched in the snow. Its weak teeth were stained with fresh blood, and for all its patchiness it was the most horrible thing she had ever seen.

She stared at it as she drifted in the night sky, the sky that rippled with odd lights. A righteous wrath flared in her, and she burned with rage. Not for herself. But for all that had come before her. That would come after her.

"You must be stopped," she said to the predator, more to speak the words than for it to hear them. In her anger, she groped for a weapon, for some way to stop the beast. Somehow she had to protect others who might find themselves in this hell.

Sudden light flared down from the brightest star in the heavens, filling her, and she kept none for herself as she opened to the monstrous creature. Light poured through her, smacking into the beast and driving it deep into the darkness, screaming a weird keening howl of pain and surprise and rage. Night fell away, and she was in a cold and mirthless suffusion of light. She drifted up towards the star, knowing that she had finally died, that she had perhaps passed some test, that heaven waited for her in the heart of the impossible, depthless light.

"Within that net," Strange said, pointing at the ripple of light that swarmed over and through the thrashing fabric of the Shroud, "is enough energy to destroy Prime. It's a countermeasure. The creator of the Shroud wanted to be sure it could not be easily destroyed. It took one of my most prized artifacts to assure that if the Shroud freed itself somehow, when it fed it would be contained and destroyed. I can't interfere with that process." His face was heated, his words bitter, but he was not angry with Peter.

"I don't care," Peter said deliberately. "You're an awesome sorcerer, right? You can contain the energies! Illyana can help! You've got to _try!_"

Tandy reached the source of the light, the brightest star in a sky that didn't exist. Oddly enough, she recognized it. A blazing eye of gold, surrounded by golden beads, an eye that was bigger than she was. It sent ripples of energy through the sky, and she realized the world was ending around her.

"Please," she said to the Eye, "where is Tyrone?"

**It is too late for him**, the Eye said. **He is the Host. The Shroud must be destroyed.**

"This is no way for him to die," Tandy said. "I faced my horror, and you helped me. I can end here in peace. But Tyrone. He isn't finished living yet. Please, let him go. I beg you."

**It is too late.**

Her determination hardened. "I don't know if this is a dream, or if this is what happens when you die, or what. But Tyrone is a good man, willing to sacrifice himself for others, and I can't allow his life to end here if there's anything left I can do."

The voice of the Eye seemed to filter across a thousand years. She had encountered an ancient intelligence, beyond all reckoning of time. In a moment of silence, she felt as though she were being judged.

**If your course is set, then touch me, **the Eye said, **and test your resolve. Fail, and you will be destroyed. Succeed, and you will have the power to change the world.**

Tandy took a deep breath. She thought of Tyrone's weary mother, of his brothers and sisters, of his goofy grin. Then, she drifted forward and planted her hands on the living gold of the Eye.

Energy swelled into her, through her, and she tried to block out the pain that raced through her blood. Too much depended on this.

She had no idea how much.

Strange gazed at the bundle of the Shroud, ever shrinking, as though the one inside was in fetal position. Light swelled across it as though from an underlit pool. He tightened his jaw, took a deep breath, settled himself. If nothing else, perhaps he could get a sense of whether they were still alive—

The light curled back like plastic wrap, peeling away from the Shroud and slithering inside it. The Eye glowed brilliantly at the throat of the Shroud, then the fabric violently shook and whipped open. Tandy was hurled from its depths to topple on the concrete floor and roll, gasping.

She shone; Light poured from her, she was luminescent, gleaming with an unearthly suffusion of angelic radiance. She unsteadily rose, and there were no shadows in the basement, for her Light absorbed them instead of casting them. Surreal in her beauty, she blinked once, then oriented on Strange.

"This," she said softly. "This is yours." She held out her hand, and Strange took the heavy lump of jewelry that was, at last, no longer the Eye of Agamotto. As he did, he saw the unearthly Light carve a circle around one of her eyes, flaring silver, a Light that contained within it enough beauty to melt hearts and dispel any darkness.

She turned and knelt by the Shroud, as Tyrone coughed. He retched, as she knelt by him and gripped his shoulders, soothing him. Spent and wounded, the Shroud lay flat on the floor around him, simple cloth.

"What just happened?" Illyana asked a bit shakily.

"Wow," Peter replied.

Strange stood, transfixed by the living Light of Agamotto. Tears slid from the corners of his eyes.

Xavier shifted, and seemed to sleep peacefully.

With a sucking slithering sound, the Shroud was again moving. It retracted, pulling within itself, and Tyrone whined in pain as it was sucked into his eye sockets. Then he blinked, and the fabric was gone. Wearing jeans and a tee shirt, Tyrone lay on the floor, gangly and awkward. He looked at Tandi, speechless at her Light.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Tandy asked him, seriously concerned. He nodded. Then he lay back, exhausted. She stood, and opened her hand. She looked down at her gleaming aura.

Then she looked at Xavier. She knelt by him, touched him, and her Light filled him. The nightmares were driven away; he blinked, opened his eyes. He saw her, and his eyes widened.

"Have I died?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"No more than I have," she replied. She looked to Strange and Peter. "What happened?"

Strange cleared his throat. "You now bear the Light of Agamotto, as it was carried in the Eye for so long. Now, you have been given that power for your own. You must have come beneath the scrutiny of Agamotto's presence as remembered in the Eye."

"I talked to the Eye," Tandy said, rising. "It told me if I had sufficient resolve, I could change the world."

Strange, unable to speak, simply nodded. He pushed his face into the crook of his arm, clearing his vision, then he looked at her again. "Now you are the Eye of Agamotto." He glanced around the chilly, barren basement. "Let's go back to my Sanctum," he said. "We can finish this there."

Illyana squinted at Tyrone. "Okay, I don't see a portal there," she said.

"He should be simple enough to transport when it is quiescent," Strange said. "With luck, by the end of the night we'll have it out of him." Everyone was gathered to their feet in a small group. A stepping disk flared, and the basement was empty.

**xXx**

Strange's kitchen was filled with a somber group, but his kitchen table was big enough to seat all of them. Xavier, Tandy, Peter, and Illyana sat at the table, and Strange led Tyrone off to the side.

"I'm going to try to remove the Shroud from you," he said. Tyrone nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "By the way," Strange added, "My name is Stephen Strange. Pleased to meet you."

"P-pleasure's mine," Tyrone said. He squinted his eyes shut hard, tense, hands balled into fists. "G-go on," he said.

Strange let his eyes lazily drift half closed, and he raised his hand towards Tyrone. Then he blinked.

"Something's wrong," he said. "Did you… did you exchange words with the predator in the Shroud?"

Tyrone shuffled a bit, sheepishly. "K-kinda," he said.

"And?" Strange said, raising an eyebrow.

Tyrone was sweating. He shifted from foot to foot. "I p-p-pp-promised it l-light an a h-ho-ost-tif it w-ww-w-would-d l-let T-Tandy g-go."

"That's probably why I was drifting out of the illusion," Tandy said. "I saw the predator. Then, I got so angry at it, for what it was, and… I don't know. Some spark, and the light came through me, and it knocked the predator deep into the dark."

Strange nodded. "You see," he said, "the Shroud is tied into an incredible number of, how to put it, networks in this world and others. That's how it moves, by transferring from one network to another. When you make a deal with the predator, then all those networks provide support for the predator to enforce it. All of the ancient magics give great power to a vow. There was no way you could have known that."

"W-woulda d-d-done it an-n-nyway," Tyrone said quietly, not looking at Tandy.

"Tyrone," Strange said seriously, clasping his shoulders in his hands and looking him in the eye, "the only way you're going to be able to restrain the Shroud is if you get enough living light. And the only source besides the life force of people is Tandy." He looked over at her, then back at him. "If you two are separated for more than a week or so, and I'm guessing at that time frame, people could be killed. This is not a game."

"If you can't take his power, can you take mine?" Tandy asked quietly.

Strange released Tyrone and looked over at her. "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Agamotto has a knack for choosing those who he wants to carry his power. If he chose you, I would not gainsay his wisdom."

"Who is Agamotto?" Tandy asked.

Strange and Tyrone moved to the table and sat. "Agamotto," Strange said with a small smile. "He was the first World Mage, the first Sorcerer Supreme for Prime. He created artifacts to embody his principles, to keep them alive while generations come and go, so the Sorcerer Supreme would always have a primary source to remember his teaching. The Eye was the most powerful of them. And now it is no longer an artifact. Incarnated, it is in you." He rubbed his eyes briefly.

"There are bound to be side effects," he said, looking at Tandy and Tyrone. "I am the one that bound the Eye and the Shroud together. You two have undone that. But you carry them within you now. If you have any questions, any concerns, if anything odd happens, do not hesitate to contact me. This could be vitally important. Okay?"

They both nodded.

"S-sir?" Tyrone said. "W-w-wwhat about the Shroud?"

Strange looked him in the eye. "It can teleport between dimensions, as you discovered. Within is a predator that drains victims of all hope and then devours their life force. It was a herald of vampires, and it was slave to the ruler of the dimension of nightmares." He paused. "Be careful," he said.

"Y-yes s-ss-sir," Tyrone said. He couldn't restrain a jaw cracking yawn. "I g-gotta get h-home, my m-mm-momma's gonna k-kill me."

"Before you go," Xavier said suddenly. His eyes were bloodshot, his bald head seemed unsteady on his thin neck. "What of Manuel? He was the host when the Shroud captured you."

Tandy and Tyrone exchanged a glance. Tandy sighed. "He came out of the shadows," she said, "swept us away. But he kicked us out in that basement. He was talking to someone, someone that told him to devour us because there was no other way to end the hunger. He said something about having to choose between… between pride and hunger," she said thoughtfully. "Tyrone offered himself to the Shroud, and Manuel was so impressed, he said he could do no less… something about his family honor. Then the Shroud… sucked him in, I suppose. And it came after us." She shrugged. "It got Tyrone first."

Xavier was very pale. "Thank you," he said in a steady voice. He closed his eyes.

Strange reached into his coat and pulled out two business cards, sliding one to Tandy and one to Tyrone. "Anything," he said. "Even if it feels trivial. Let me know."

"Thank you for your help," Tandy said.

"Believe it or not," Strange said quietly, "your convictions saved you this time." He smiled briefly at them. "Illyana, can you take them home?"

"Yeah, come here," she said to them. The three stepped away from the table and vanished in a flare of dark light.

"All's well that ends well, I guess," Peter said, rising. "I have to go tell Mary Jane what happened." He shook his head. "She's going to think she needs some kind of wacky power next."

"Peter," Strange said, searching for words. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Peter smiled briefly. "I'm spoiled," he said. "I'm used to dealing with problems I can punch, and if I can't punch it you wave your hands and it's fixed." He shrugged. "This sort of thing is probably more what you're used to. The thornier problems."

Strange just nodded.

Peter glanced away. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just different when they're your friends." He smiled again, to be polite, and left.

**xXx**

Mary Jane started up off the couch as the door to her small apartment opened. Peter smiled at her ruefully, and she knelt on a cushion by the coffee table, a towel laid out on the floor in front of her.

"Okay, hotshot," she said. "I'm ready to do your stitches." There was an odd mix of tension and relief in her smile.

Peter closed the door behind himself, and sat on the floor by Mary Jane. He put his arm around her, and with his other hand he took the curved needle out of her hand. "Not this time," he said. "I didn't throw a single punch."

"Tandy and Tyrone?" Mary Jane asked breathlessly.

Peter rolled his head to the side, then leaned it against Mary Jane. He closed his eyes and listened to her heart beat. "They're alive," he said. "Neither one is in the hospital. But… but they've changed."

"Changed?"

Peter sighed. "Tandy is now this battery of living light, and Tyrone? Well, on a bad day he's going to turn into that thing that swept them away. Now Tandy is the Eye, or has the light of the Eye. Tyrone is the host for something called the Shroud."

"Strange couldn't fix it?" Mary Jane said skeptically.

"How did you know Strange got involved?" Peter asked.

"Duh, this is out of your reach," she said. "You always get him in on it when you're stuck, and don't think I think any less of you because you were stuck on square one in this mess."

"Why do you have to be right all the time?" Peter wondered aloud.

"So is the band still on?" she asked.

Peter sighed, hiding his face by her shoulder. "I didn't ask," he said. "I'm really tired. I… I don't want to talk about it. I haven't felt this helpless… in a long, long time, Mary Jane. There was nothing I could do."

"Ssh," Mary Jane said. "Come here." She put her arms around him. "My little drummer boy," she said with a fond smile. "It's been a hell of a day, hasn't it?"

"So much for lifting heavy stuff," he said with a small smile as his eyes met hers.

"What do you think my funky power should be?" she asked thoughtfully.

"I knew it, I _knew_ it," Peter groaned.

She consoled him.


End file.
